Born to be Horsemen
by AzureKate
Summary: In the decade before Apocalypse's awakening, Erik actually met Angel once before. Featuring Magneto and Angel/Archangel. CharlesxErik. Minor movie storyline spoilers. Set post DOFP, and a bit into Apocalypse. I will fix grammar/spelling mistakes soon.


**Born to be Horsemen**

AzureKate. An X-Men: Apocalypse Fanfiction

 _Summary: In the decade before Apocalypse's awakening, Erik actually met Angel once before._

 _This is set between the Days of Future Past and Apocalypse films. Mainly about Magneto, and my favorite X-Men character Angel/Archangel. There's some Cherik McBender in here. Sorry not sorry._

Erik Lehnsherr's decision to leave Charles the first time was more of a spur of the moment decision. The anger was too much. The emotion overtook him and he didn't think. He didn't think ahead, or consider what life would be without Charles. He came to miss him. After being arrested on the accusation that he assassinated the president and spent his time in the Pentagon prison, all he did was think about Charles. What they could have had. Maybe they could have saved the president if they were still together. Surely, they could have made up for the mistakes they _both_ made on the beach in Cuba. Erik still felt connected to Charles.

When Charles came with Beast, Quicksilver, and Wolverine to bust him out of the Pentagon, he was the last person Erik expected to see. Upon their time together, Erik realized there was still a great tension between them. "You abandoned me!" "You abandoned us all." It wasn't until that moment Erik realized himself that he felt that way about Charles. That he somehow blamed Charles for the deaths of Angel, Emma, Azazel, and Banshee. All whom _he_ failed to save. Not Charles. But if Charles had been there…

That was also a spur of the moment encounter. He simply overtaken by emotions he'd never felt before that moment. Feelings he didn't realize he was feeling.

When he left Charles the second time on the lawn of the Whitehouse, that was when he really felt he and Charles were at last separated. It would be difficult to recover from _this_ fight. As much as Erik felt for Charles, they were really too different. They really _didn't_ want the same thing. Charles was too blindly hopeful in people. And Erik was too blindly hopeless.

Erik knew he didn't want to stay in the USA. Not only because one of the world's most hated and wanted villains, but because he didn't want to be near Charles anymore. It would only hurt him. He wasted no time buying himself an airplane ticket…Poland might be nice. He'd try there.

He found himself back in New York, in an airport with the few things he had, getting ready to board a plane to what he hoped would be his new life. But as he sat in a chair waiting patiently for his flight, keeping his face down and covered by a sweater hood—someone caught his eye.

It wasn't anyone he'd seen before. He didn't recognize him. It was only a child, standing by the wall, almost hugging it. He was pressed against it, staring after an older man in the distance with hard, almost anxious eyes. Every few seconds he would glance around nervously at the people in the airport. He wasn't too far from Erik. He had curly blond hair, and a baby-like face—though he was tall enough to be at least perhaps ten or eleven years old, Erik assumed. He was dressed very well, probably from a wealthy family.

But none of that was what caught Erik's eye. What really caught Erik's eye was the fact that he was wearing a long coat, covering a rather large hump on his back. There were two points under the coat that were poking out, as though something sharp was hidden beneath it. Erik stared at it for a moment, and came to the conclusion that the child must be a mutant in hiding. Of course, he could be wrong, but he decided to make the assumption. He was not Charles, so he had no way to know for sure. And by approaching the child under the assumption that he was a mutant, he was more than aware that he could scare him.

But Erik pushed that possibility to the back of his mind. He stood from his chair, leaving his small suitcase beside it as he walked carefully toward the anxious child. When he neared him, the child—casting another glance around him—saw him, and stared at him almost fearfully. He turned toward Erik, pushing his humped back against the wall. Erik, aware he was probably scaring the child, offered him a small smile. He walked up in front of him, and knelt down.

"Hello," he greeted. He briefly doubted what he was doing—but he wouldn't mind contact with another mutant, assuming this child _was_ one. And he was pretty sure.

"Hi," the kid said quietly and quickly, keeping his hands behind his back.

"My name is…Henryk," he introduced himself, thinking up the name carefully for a second after deciding it unwise to give his real name, what with the recently concluded/ruined Paris Peace Accords. He was sure everyone, even this child, would be aware of the name Erik Lehnsherr. "What's yours?"

"I'm…" he hesitated. "I'm Warren."

"Where are you headed to?"

"I'm visiting family…with my dad." He glanced back to the older man in the distance he had been staring at, who was engaged in what looked to be a rather heated conversation with an airport employee. Must be his father.

"I'm headed home to Poland today. Warren, I couldn't help but notice…" He took a second to _really_ think out what to say. He didn't want to scare this child. "Well, I guess I should ask. Do you feel different? From other people?"

The kid stared at him for a moment, perhaps confused by the question. "Do you mean...because of my back?"

Erik smiled and nodded. The boy took another second, and nodded. "What have you got hidden under there?"

"My dad says I'm not supposed to talk about it."

What a disgusting father, making his son hide. "You can tell me." But the boy shook his head. Erik smiled again. "Can I show you something?" He reached into his pocket, digging a moment to find the necklace buried at the bottom. It was a locket, with his parents inside. He pulled it out and held it in his hand. He held it up for the boy to see; he stared at it, waiting.

The boy's eyes widened as the necklace's chain began to move in the palm of Erik's hand. It swirled around, until the pendant lifted up into midair. It span around a few times, dancing through the air before falling back to his hand before anyone else could see it. Erik's heart had a tiny burst of warmth when a smile touched the child's lips.

"How did you do that?" the child asked, staring at him with sparkling eyes. All of the anxiety and fear was gone.

"You aren't the only one who's different. I'm special, just like you."

The boy's smile grew. "My dad always says it's not special. He keeps saying I'm sick."

Erik felt another stab of anger toward the well-dressed man in the distance. "You are not sick. Whatever you've got hidden under your coat, it makes you who you are. One day, Warren, I promise you won't have to hide anymore. I'm going to change the world. For you, for me, for everyone who is different."

The look in Warren's eyes was unlike anything Erik had seen. Well, actually, that was a lie. He'd seen in once. In _Charles'_ eyes.

It was pure, blind hope. And seeing it in Warren's eyes only made Erik think of Charles. And for a moment, he doubted what he was doing. He doubted himself, he doubted his choice to leave the USA for Poland. He quickly tried to shake his doubt from his mind.

"Can I show you?" Warren asked. Erik snapped back into reality.

"Hmm?"

Warren reached down the back of his collar. He searched for something, taking his time, reaching as far as he could over his shoulder. Then he found what he was looking for: there was a flash of pain across his face, and then he pulled his hand out of his coat. Pinched between his fingers was a pristine white feather. For a moment, Erik's breath ceased. _Wings_ were what was hidden beneath his coat, pressed tightly against his back and likely bound with bandages or something else of the sort.

What a _beautiful_ mutation. Charles would _love_ this child.

Erik took the feather from the boy's hand, and looked at it. It was just a baby feather. Erik tried to imagine the size of his wings based on the size of his hump and the age the boy looked to be. He had no trouble imagining that someday the wings would grow to be massive. He stared at the feather for a long moment, taking in its beauty.

"You've got wings under there?" Erik asked quietly. With no fear at all, Warren nodded, smiling.

"They're really pretty. I want to learn to fly, but my dad makes me keep them tied down."

"What a disgusting man," Erik muttered under his breath. He looked into Warren's eyes. "Warren, you are special. Your wings are special. Don't let your dad tell you otherwise. In fact, if you ever want to learn to fly, there is a place you can go. A place where you won't have to hide."

Erik couldn't believe what he was doing. He stood and grabbed a pamphlet from a nearby desk, and a pen. In a hurry, he scribbled down the address of Charles' school—Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. He tore the corner of the pamphlet off, and snuck the rest back into the pile on the desk when the desk worker was distracted. He knelt back down beside Warren, and held out the piece of paper for him to take. He took it and looked at it. "There is a school here in New York. A school for people like us. I lived there for a while. There are…there are good people there. A man who can help you learn. You won't ever have to hide there."

Warren's eyes practically lit up.

"Is he like us, too?"

Erik assumed he meant Charles. "Yes. He was very special to me. If he ever meets you, he will _love_ you. He will love your wings."

"I want to go there!" he exclaimed.

"Maybe you can someday. Keep that address hidden. Don't let your father take it from you," Erik said. Warren nodded and shoved the paper down into his coat pocket.

 _"_ _Warren!"_

They both looked as the boy's father quickly walked over. Erik stared at him with cold, hateful eyes, and all of Warren's happiness seemed to vanish instantly. His father jerked him roughly away from Erik. "What have I told you about speaking to strangers?"

The man saw the feather in Erik's hand, and froze. He wasted no time snatching it away.

"Sorry, sir. My son likes to pick up fathers. Warren, I've _told_ you not to do that. You can get sick from them." He shoved the feather into his own pocket, staring down at his son with a stern look.

Erik stood to meet him. "I'm Henryk. And sir, if I may…"

The man met his eyes.

"Your son is _not_ ill."

The man froze, and then looked down at Warren with a rather infuriated look in his eyes. Erik silently _dared_ him to strike the boy, to punish him somehow. He would waste no time killing him. He could just keep his face covered from the security cameras and head to another airport—after taking Warren with him and dropping him off at the gate of Charles' mansion, of course.

But the man didn't strike him. He stared in silence, looking disappointed at his son, who seemed to shrivel in his gaze. It made Erik sick to his stomach. He wanted to kill the man even if he didn't strike his son. No mutant should be shamed. And _that_ is what Erik would always believe.

But he thought of Charles. He thought of what Charles would say if he saw Erik kill a human, unprovoked. Picturing Charles' disappointed face was enough to hold Erik back. Imagining it, for a moment, almost felt real to Erik. The image in his mind was so vivid, he thought he saw Charles off in the distance, sitting in his wheelchair and staring coldly at Erik, as though daring _him_ to strike. It sent a shiver down Erik's spine.

Erik looked down at Warren and met his eyes. "Warren, _you are not alone."_

After he said it, it struck him. He said the sentence aloud in his own voice, but it echoed in his head in the voice of Charles. It took him back to the night in the water, when Charles dove in to save him from drowning despite having never met him before. He said the exact same thing to Erik that night.

Erik hoped the sentence, despite being said by _him_ , would carry the same meaning for Warren, and give him the same hope and comfort it had once given Erik. And as he stared at the child, who was staring back, he thought to himself: _this child belongs with Charles._

And he called out loudly with his mind, hoping Charles would hear—and knowing that he wouldn't— _Charles, this child needs you._

He couldn't help but imagine that _all_ mutant children needed Charles. The perfectly hopeful and faithful Charles. Only he knew the perfect way to help _everyone_.

And then when the mutants grew to adults, they would need Erik. That was what he believed. Charles could teach them to use their powers, and perhaps share some of his hopefulness with them. He could make them see the world as a perfect place—and when the mutants grew up and realized what a cold world it _really_ is, then Erik could help them.

He blinked hard, pushing Charles from his mind. He stared at Warren, and smiled softly. "We'll meet again, little angel."

"Like hell you will," his father snapped. "Stay away from my son or I'll have you killed. Don't you know who I am?"

Erik brushed off the angry threat. He was anything but afraid of the human, and certainly didn't care who he was. He kept smiling at Warren, then turned and walked back to his seat, sitting down beside his untouched suitcase. He watched as Warren's father practically dragged him over to men in black suits in stereotypical dark sunglasses—personal security? A wealthy family, indeed. He longed to go and _take_ the child. But he held himself back, watching as Warren and his father went out of sight with their security detail.

Though he couldn't see him anymore, Warren stayed in Erik's mind for quite a while—the entire plane ride, and several weeks after arriving in Poland. He wanted nothing but the best for him.

And he hoped someday, he could give him that.

-X-

When Erik stepped into the metal factory, he had no doubts in his mind. An image of Charles didn't creep into his mind. He didn't think about Charles giving him a cold stare. He was going to kill all of these men. It was _their_ fault. _Everything_ was their fault. And he would never forgive them.

But when a portal opened behind him, revealing four rather strange looking people, Erik was anything but thrilled, and definitely not curious as to who they are. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. Probably sent by Charles. To stop him from exacting his revenge. Naturally.

"Stay back," he ordered when the weirdest-looking of the four took several steps toward him. He looked powerful. Of course Charles would have stronger friends now. His area of influence had no doubt expanded with the opening of his school. With the new age of mutants arriving, Erik had no doubt that Charles' school was probably _filled_ with mutants of all ages and abilities. "Whoever you are, _don't_ try to stop me from killing these men."

The blue man was unthreatened. He looked over Erik's shoulder, and his eyes turned silver. There was a brief yelling, then silence. Erik turned slowly to look at the workers—every single one of them had fallen _into_ the floor, with only hands or legs left in sight.

The blue man came closer. "I'm not here for them. I'm here for you."

He turned away and walked back to his three comrades. A new circular portal opened, and all four of them turned into it. But then turned back to stare at Erik. The blue man beckoned him.

Definitely not a friend of Charles'.

"Come and see."

Erik was doubtful. He stared at the blue man, and then finally looked at his companions. Two woman, and one man—all young looking. There was nothing particularly special-looking about the women, but the blond man had metal wings extending from his back through cut holes in his leather jacket. He looked almost familiar.

But Erik's eyes didn't linger on him for long. Staring at the powerful blue man, he walked forward and stepped into the portal with them. It closed behind him, and then a few seconds later reopened on the opposite side. He extended over them all and then vanished.

Erik looked around, and horror paralyzed him.

The blue man had brought him back to Auschwitz.

-X-

Magneto now felt much stronger.

He had felt nothing but anger upon being brought back to Auschwitz, at first. It was an awful place, the place where his powers were born and his parents were brutally killed by the scum named Sebastian Shaw.

But after Apocalypse unlocked his power further, he came to learn he could control the very earth. He felt like a god. Charles could _never_ have taught him this.

And now he was beside Apocalypse. A _Horseman_ , he called him. The Horseman of War.

But he was unconcerned with his title. When they arrived in the dark, abandoned building where they settled, he was more concerned with his new comrades, his fellow Horseman. He couldn't care less about the women. But the Horseman of Death was another story.

The longer he stared at the young winged man, the more familiar he looked.

When Apocalypse was busy speaking to the women about something Erik wasn't interested in, he took a moment to approach the boy, who was leaning on his wings against a wall, staring out a window at the dark, sleeping city beyond the walls of the building where they found themselves.

He stood beside the boy with wings, silent for a moment. Then he spoke up, silently, "Those aren't the wings I remember you having."

The boy looked at him. His eyes were golden. Erik had at last recognized him. It was the boy he'd met ten years ago, in the New York Airport. Little Warren, with his tiny wings.

But Warren's face went dark. "No."

"What happened?" Erik prodded carefully. He could sense it was a hurtful topic. He knew the feeling.

"A teleporter shoved my wing into an electric fence during a cage fight."

Erik felt for Warren. He'd never seen his white wings for himself, but he could picture exactly what Warren had briefly described. He imagined this grown-up Warren with a burnt, crippled wing. How sad. They must have been so beautiful.

Warren gestured to Apocalypse on the other side of the room and the women beside him. "They found me. He gave me these wings. He gave my life back." And then he looked away from Erik, and back out the window.

"I promised you ten years ago in the airport that I would make this a better world for you. The people can't possibly reject you now, looking so magnificent."

"That's a funny thing to say, considering we're about to kill them all."

"Unfortunate for them. But Warren"—

"I go by Archangel now."

 _"_ _Archangel…_ I think this is where we're meant to be. I'm not completely…but maybe this is what we were born for."

Archangel looked at him a moment, staring with his golden eyes. "I hope so. Either way, I have to stay here. Apocalypse gave me back my life. There wasn't much left of me after I lost my wing. Since he's given it back…"

It caused a stir of doubt in Erik's heart. He nodded to Archangel and walked away to another side of the room, leaving him to stare out the window blankly. Erik felt that Archangel didn't want to be there. That he was only there because he felt he owed it to Apocalypse.

He wondered if the women felt the same. If they felt he'd done some great deed for them and they had to repay it by serving him.

Did… _he_ feel that way?

He looked back at the distracted Archangel. He must never have made it to Charles' side.

And though he and Charles were as far apart as they could be, Erik felt a sting of regret. A regret that he had forsaken him, when he could have saved so many people from such terrible fates by sending them to him. He never referred any other mutants to Charles after Archangel, but he had clearly failed with that. That was a great regret that ate at his heart.

He looked when Apocalypse called Archangel over to him. He hovered his hand over the angel's body, and began to form new armor for his Horseman of Death, the leader of the four. When it was done, he touched a finger to Archangel's head. The hair around his head fell, leaving only a mop of curly hair on top. From Apocalypse's finger, lines began to appear on his head and face, marking him as a follower of the powerful Egyptian mutant.

And Erik felt that sealed his fate.

He turned away, full of regret at failing to help this magnificent boy when he could. Regret at all of his mistakes. Doubt toward his future. Anger toward his past.

And that's when it touched him. A soft touch in his mind. A warm, familiar presence. One Erik had learned to love, and struggled without. One he'd not felt in ten years.

 _"_ _Charles?"_


End file.
